


What If Scott Summers Lost His Powers?

by handyhunter



Category: Astonishing X-Men, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-19
Updated: 2010-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:30:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handyhunter/pseuds/handyhunter





	What If Scott Summers Lost His Powers?

The world looked different without the thin lines that usually enclosed Scott's field of vision. He rejected yet another pair of glasses; so far, all the ones he'd tried lacked. . .authority. The optometrist had finally written him a prescription, after his third visit in as many weeks because he'd walked into a glass door more than once since _it_ happened and still had trouble telling some colours apart, and now he was in store that sold all kinds of eyewear, both functional and decorative.

(Buying glasses when there was nothing wrong with his eyesight felt wrong - wasteful - somehow. And truth be told, he preferred the way he looked with glasses on, though he wasn't quite sure if it was due to familiarity or vanity. He wondered what Jean would think, not only of his outing today, but of being de-powered. . .but that way lay madness.)

As weak as the corrective grade was - practically non-existent, if Scott cared to admit it - it still felt like having something in front of his eyes sharpened his visual perception. Something to frame his line of sight (though no longer his line of fire). He'd refused to try rimless glasses for that reason; it didn't quite seem right for glasses to be so unobtrusive. They ought to be substantial, a definite weight on one's ears and the bridge of one's nose, with thick, coke-bottle lenses. He didn't say that out loud, though; dating himself (or, more to the point, the professor's earliest efforts to control his power) quite so thoroughly was a private joke, more so now that there were no telepaths with whom to share it.

"These ones have titanium memory frames," said the ever helpful saleswoman, whose name tag read 'Jane'; she'd attempted to sell him contacts earlier, and he'd nearly broken out in hives. "They're flexible, harder to break than plastic or other metal frames." She demonstrated, twisting the thin wire this way and that; they held their shape after the indelicate handling. "You said you did a lot of physical activity? These are very durable."

Scott tried that pair on too. They were _light_. His ruby quartz glasses had evolved over the years, as technology and new material allowed for a less bulky design, but even his most streamlined pair had nothing on these. They felt like they'd bounce off his nose if he sneezed too hard.

"They'll feel a lot more secure once they're adjusted properly," Jane offered, guessing correctly at the main source of Scott's reticence.

"They're, uh, awfully light," said Scott, looking at his reflection; that part was alright, aside from still not being accustomed to being able to see his eyes.

Jane nodded. "Isn't it great? No more headaches from glasses that are too tight or heavy on your ears or nose."

"Great," Scott echoed. Funny the things you missed -- or at least learned to deal with on such an everyday basis that it became routine. Nicely predictable.

"Now for the lenses," she said, pulling out a form with a great many lines to fill in.

"Lenses?" Scott pulled off the frames and blinked, despite the lack of change in his vision.

"I recommend polycarbonate. It's more shatter resistant than high-index plastics. Very popular among athletes."

"Whatever happened to plain glass?"

"Mm." Jane shook her head. "Not what you want. Way too breakable and heavy. Optically, it's still the best, but your prescription is low enough that it shouldn't matter. Hardly anyone uses it anymore." Evidently, Jane took Scott's lack of reply as agreement, as she began ticking off boxes on the form. "Now, polycarbonate does scratch easily, so I'm assuming you'll want a scratch resistant coating. What about UV protection and anti-reflective coating? Good. Sign here, please."

Scott signed where indicated and handed over his credit card.

"We'll call you in three days. We appreciate your business, Mr. Summers."

***

He still closed his eyes every time he removed his glasses, but it was getting easier, sort of, to remember that he didn't have to. The first few mornings he'd woken up in near panic without the weight of his sleep goggles over his still shut eyes; he'd taken to tying strips of heavy cloth over his eyes. He dismissed the idea of using proper blindfolds, like the kind they gave passengers on commercial flights; to do so would seem like he was developing a problem rather than simply going through an adjustment period. Emma, without her psychic abilities, couldn't help with this; she was so busy with the students anyhow, he barely saw her.

He wasn't used to being the only voice in his head, too full of lists of things to do, team members to see to, plans for the future, immediate and long-term, and too empty, at the same time. Sometimes he had silent conversations with her (or Jean -- when had he ever not?) anyway; he knew her well enough by now to know how she'd respond to most of his comments -- or maybe he just shaped their discussions to go the way he'd like them to, and what was the harm in that, if it stayed between himself and his mind?

***

"Back again, eh, Mr. Summers?"

"Please, call me Scott. Sunglasses this time."

***

He'd tried on his ruby quartz glasses once, soon after he'd lost his powers, and found he could not see anything but large, indistinct blurs through the opaque red haze. One of the large, indistinct blurs had moved and he'd automatically put his hand to the side of his head, for a second, before he remembered and pulled off the glasses in a hurry, embarrassed to be caught.

"What do you want, Logan?" he'd said, brusquely, fingers tight around the frames; he'd leave smudges on the lenses.

"Just passing through, bub." Slowly and heavily, the other man had walked past the open doorway. Logan moved like an old man, weighed down by the adamantium covering his bones and the years of wear and tear on his body that his healing factor no longer compensated for.

After that, Scott folded up the thick red glasses and stashed them with his spare visors and glasses in his night stand.

(Actually, he had several pairs hidden throughout the mansion: in the living areas, classrooms, by the danger room, in the hanger and garage... He'd broken, lost or had stolen from him enough pairs throughout the years that he considered too many back-ups far more prudent, if not cost-effective when weighing the price of ruby quartz versus new furniture or carpentry, than not having any on hand. He could quite make himself put them all away. Just in case.)

***

"Really, darling, you have such lovely eyes. I don't know why you insist on hiding them all the time. I would've thought you'd want people to look you in the eye."

***

He had a pair of red sunglasses he never wore. He wasn't sure why he purchased them, except that it seemed like a good idea at the time. Since then, he'd picked up a few more pairs, running the range from barely tinted to too dark to see through, and casual to more formal frames, as well as ones shaped like his old visors.

He forgot, once in a while, to take them off when he stepped inside. Only when his eyes ached from squinting at the darkness would he remember. It was odd, having the light reflect away from his shaded eyes, instead of being a light source. He rather missed being able to see in the dark when he got up in the middle of the night and stubbed his toe on furniture or knick-knacks that moved themselves about when the lights went out.

When Emma complained this his sunglasses were cluttering the room, he moved his collection into the dresser, next to his work shirts. And when that got crowded, he started hanging up those shirts next to his good shirts. Emma's clothes really didn't take up much room in the closet.

***

It was probably no coincidence that Scott tended to pick his most opaque and reflective pair for crisis situations, when he could predict them, and sometimes, for no real or premeditated reason at all. It drove Emma crazy when she couldn't tell what he was looking at (Hank - and Logan, for that matter - always seemed to know, or didn't care that much) and she became infuriated when a few of the students showed up to class with sunglasses on, "just like Mr. Summers".

"What happened to setting a good example?" she said, and he replied, "What do you think of adding them to our outfits?"

"What?"

"Although I suppose it wouldn't be very cost-effective, especially if we had to keep replacing them. Still, it's a thought. Have you ever noticed that superhero costumes tend to have very little in the way of eye protection?"

Hisako told him pink was a good colour on her.

***

Sometimes he thought he still dreamed in red. And, today, when he woke up, everything remained shades of red and black. He closed his eyes instinctively, but there was no telltale crash of splintering ceiling, so he opened one eye slowly. Nothing happened, and his room was still awash in red. He closed his eyes again, this time in. . .relief, he told himself, and willed his heartbeat to return to normal. Later, he'd find out which of the students plugged in red lava lamps all over his room, and perhaps he'd have a chat with Logan and Hank too. _It's a good sign, isn't it, that some of the kids are finding humour in this situation?_ He wasn't quite sure who he was talking to, and drifted off to sleep without waiting for a reply.


End file.
